I Don't Think It's Going To Work

I'm Trying To Think Of A Witty Comeback, When Boggs Says Brusquely, “well, Don't Expect Us To Be Too Impressed. We Just Saw Finnick Odair In His Underwear.” I Decide To Go Ahead And Like Boggs.

Peeta, How Come I Never Know When You're Having A Nightmare?” I Say. “i Don't Know. I Don't Think I Cry Out Or Thrash Around Or Anything. I Just Come To, Paralyzed With Terror,” He Says. “you Should Wake Me,” I Say, Thinking About How I Can Interrupt His Sleep Two Or Three Times On A Bad Night. About How Long It Can Take To Calm Me Down. “it's Not Necessary. My Nightmares Are Usually About Losing You,” He Says. “i'm Okay Once I Realize You're Here.

No One Knows What To Do With You, Girlie.

I Wrap My Arms Around His Neck, Feel His Arms Hesitate Before They Embrace Me. Not As Steady As They Once Were, But Still Warm And Strong. A Thousand Moments Surge Through Me. All The Times These Arms Were My Only Refuge From The World. Perhaps Not Fully Appreciated Then, But So Sweet In My Memory, And Now Gone For Ever.

You're A Painter. You're A Baker. You Like To Sleep With The Windows Open. You Never Take Sugar In Your Tea. And You Always Double-knot Your Shoelaces.